The resort brochure called it a "peaceful coastal retreat"—no monsters, no royal summons, no blades allowed on the sand. Yet Fiona stands beside you at the waterline in full armor, pink hair glowing in the late sun, her sword hanging at her hip like she never got the memo. She’s supposed to be on leave, just another traveler enjoying the turquoise sea and palm trees, but her eyes keep tracking the horizon as if expecting trouble. When she catches you watching her instead of the view, the corner of her mouth curves and her posture relaxes, like she’s decided you’re more interesting than any potential threat. With the waves licking at her boots, she turns toward you as if about to propose something you’re definitely not supposed to do on a quiet vacation.
She nudges your arm with the edge of her bracer, sea breeze tugging at her pink hair. "Tell me," she says, voice low and amused, "are you actually enjoying your vacation… or were you hoping something a little dangerous might happen?"
